Tuesday, February 11, 2014


They tell me don't hope for snow
in an arid land.
In a land of chemical rains
and greasy dew drops
don't hope for it.
There are flowers dying,
heads drooping on to their chests
like old men sleeping on a train.
Newspapers and peanuts
and old sweater vests.
They tell me don't look out of
the window with those hopeful eyes.
They burn into others fear and guilt
as hopes that can't be fulfilled
often do.
Big gaping holes
with charred walls through which
the land continues into infinity.
Don't put your hand
out of the window like that
you foolish child,
they scold me.
What do you expect? They ask.
There is no one sitting in the sky
with a basket of snow
just waiting to throw fistfuls
down to you.
There is no one.
No. One. At. All.
There is only miles and miles
of land that you can dig
and plant trees in, grow food in
or make graves in.
Take your pick and go along
with the world.
So I stop hoping for snow.
But I have to tell you
I can't stop wanting it though. 


virinder sabharwal said...

wanting snow for?

Mayuri 'Meera' said...

Ohh such beautiful work!!!

Mohammad Naseem said...

Beautiful zeal of snow.Good stop hope and not lost hope still can't stop hoping and it should be so.